time of day, naturally awaited the Don in the parlour. Dona Cazadero and Pilar were this morning filled with unusual animation. Their novels were lying neglected, the chocolate box had not even been opened. Pasteboard boxes and wrapping paper lay strewn about, and over the benches that had evidently been brought up for the purpose were draped bolts of beautiful dress materials.
"It is the little one!" cried Dona Cazadero in Spanish, which Daphne had—as all children of that day—picked up after a fashion. "Just in time! You must help. See these things have but just come, and you must assist. Here are materials come straight from New York and Pilar and I must choose how they shall be made and which of us will wear them."
In five minutes Daphne was lost in the twentieth feminine heaven of ravishment. Such a profusion could nowhere else have been seen outside of a dry goods shop. There were silks heavy as canvas and light as a spider web; brocades that rivalled Chinatown's best; satins; lawns; linens patterned and plain. They were all in the piece. But also there were nearly a dozen gowns all made up, patterns of the styles, dainty ravishing creations; and slippers, and silk stockings of all colours, and many other more intimate affairs. Daphne was breathless with awe. Never before had she seen anything like it.
"It is so confusing!" cried Pilar in despair. "There are so many! For the evening gown, I cannot decide. Let us wait until the new jewels come."
"Jewels?" breathed Daphne.
"It is a nothing. But when last in San Francisco I saw a set of emeralds that was of a great beauty, a green like the new summer. Ever since they have been in my dreams. And last week papa consented. So they have been sent for, and they should come now very soon. It would be better to make an evening gown to match with them; do not you think so, niña?"
"If I had just one, just one dress like any of those," breathed Daphne, "I'd never think about emeralds. And if I had emeralds, I'd never remember a gown—like Salome before Herod."
